


tell me you'll never, never, never

by frak-all (or_ryn)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Crushes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fraternities & Sororities, HEA, Meta references to alpha/beta/omega dynamics, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rey Nobody From Nowhere, TA/student, and instead turned into a look at high-key academic stress, but there will also be fluff :), sweaters as tertiary characters, this was supposed to be a funny little nothing, though nothing happens until after the semester is over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/or_ryn/pseuds/frak-all
Summary: “He thinks I became an Alpha to spite him," Ben says, sighing bitterly. "Like it was a choice I made with him in mind.”Rey’s eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of her head.“What the fuck,” she breathes out, staring sightlessly down at her keyboard.“What the fuck.”Or:Rey overhears a conversation in the science library and conveniently forgets that fraternities are a thing.
Relationships: Finn & Rey (Star Wars), Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 324
Kudos: 892





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hooo boy. alright, here we go. 
> 
> this fic is loosely inspired by [this hilarious tumblr post](https://nomorelonelydays.tumblr.com/post/158505375857/literally-heard-a-convo-at-the-library-where-a-guy). as a disclaimer, i know approximately nothing about greek life & it's not really gonna feature that heavily here. from my limited googling, though, it seems like the majority of frats that start with 'omega' are from hbcu's, so ben's an ~alpha~ in this. 
> 
> title(s) are from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwtdHsly3VE) in _never let me go_. enjoy having it haunt you :)
> 
> a million thanks to [jenfysnest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenfysNest/pseuds/JenfysNest) for the beta here 🙏🙏 any mistakes you see are because i continued meddling after i sent it to her.
> 
> enjoy the show

  


  
  


MAIL now  
**Archive of Our Own  
[AO3] youthotwrong posted Chapter 7 of bind my heart (with your warm embrace)**  
Archive of Our Own youthotwrong posted a new chapter of bind my heart (with your... 

  


Rey smiles, excitement sparking through her as the email notification lights up her phone. 

Her thumb hovers over her screen protector. 

Then, just as quickly, she flips her phone upside down. 

  


  


  


She couldn’t explain how it started. After all, how does anything on the Internet really start? 

If pressed, she supposes she’d compare it to that Wikipedia game—the one kids in her middle school used to play on their iPhones during lunch. 

Wikiracing? Six degrees of separation? 

Yeah. Yeah, that’s the one. 

She’d compare it to something like that if she had to. Like that exactly, only porn. 

_Free_ porn. 

And not just free porn, but free comfort porn. With her favorite fictional characters. One link had led to another, which had led to a third, which had led down a rabbit hole. One she’s still in the process of falling through. Falling through, and passing all manner of highly explicit fantasy erotica along the way. 

Rey isn’t a prude. She has sex when she can spare the time, and she’s never once felt embarrassed about it. Never once regretted it. 

Nothing in her sex life mimics this, though. 

It isn’t even—it isn’t even the _terms_. 

Glands and slick. Pheromones and _knots_. 

She’s read enough of the trope that, in context—in _fic_ —the words no longer jump out at her as unusual, no longer seem that kinky. Not really. They’re simply a function of a world. One where people belong to each other. Where couples find each other. Share in each other. Are drawn—sometimes _locked_ —together and held close. For an hour, and then a lifetime. An ever-after embrace. 

Rey doesn’t think she’s been held for longer than five consecutive minutes since she learned how to walk. 

But, anyway. It’s fiction. And it’s harmless. 

And her fingers itch to read it. 

Her fingers itch to read it, like the distracting, escapist habit it’s become. 

There’s too much to do tonight, though. Far too much. Later, if she finishes, she’ll read the update. Once she’s back at her apartment and tucked safely into bed. It’ll serve as a nice motivator for this assignment, in any case; it the carrot, her anxiety the stick. 

At this time of night, and in the calm before the finals storm, the science library is a husk of its normal self. Vacant swivel chairs and harsh fluorescent lighting and white-blue computer screens. 

It’s just her here now. 

Well, her and Rose’s older sister Paige. 

Well, her, and Rose’s older sister Paige, and her recitation leader for CS1371. 

Ben Solo. 

Tall, arrogant, frustratingly brilliant Ben Solo. 

He’s an ideal TA in a lot of ways—unerringly responsive to emails, quick to clarify the convoluted conceptual pieces from slide lecture in ways that are far easier for her to digest, and a fast grader. She could almost like him. If he didn’t manage to throw backhanded compliments at her every _single_ time she opened her mouth in recitation, she probably would. 

But he does, so she doesn’t. Like him, that is. 

She doesn’t fuck with assholes. It’s one of her few blanket rules. 

That said, it’s hard to avoid him. Outside of Monday lectures and Thursday recitations and the occasional office hours visit, which is already a lot, she still sees him around campus. At the gym, at the library, on the steps at Crosland Tower. And at all hours of the day, too, almost like he has the same bizarre, scattered sleep schedule she does. 

While she knows she’s logged more hours in the science library than anyone else in 1371 combined because her laptop is incapable of running anything more taxing than Microsoft Word without spontaneously combusting, he’s also in here often enough. Cooped up at a corner table with his khaki shorts and brightly-colored polos and fancy hair. The computers here have all kinds of specialized software he must have to use, not just MATLAB with Simulink that she needs for her homework. 

Her homework. 

The reason she’s here now. _Making progress_. On her problem set. 

It isn’t due until Monday, the last class before dead week, but she has a full schedule at Plutt’s, laundry that needs doing, an environmental protest to plan with Resistance Earth, a presentation to finish for that curmudgeonly asshole Professor Skywalker, readings for one of her classes, and tests for two more. And that doesn’t even factor in finals. Last-minute work isn’t something she can afford. 

Finishing in three-and-a-half years, covering her living expenses, maintaining her GPA, staying politically active—she’s on a tightrope. People fall _off_ tightropes. Literally, and all of the time. 

Only, most people—her classmates, her coworkers, nearly everyone she’s met here, really—they have nets under them. A support system available to catch them when they fall. 

That is a luxury Rey hasn’t had for a very long time. 

Slipping would be the matter of one distraction. One mistake. So easy to do, too. So simple to make. 

Her fingers constrict around her Contigo thermos. The metal is solid, cool. Riddled with divots. 

After a long pull from the old, battered thing, she feels, if not better, then at least grounded. Bitter, sour notes linger on her tongue, pulling her back to the present. 

The present, which—she eyes the bottom right of her computer monitor—is 12:57 in the morning. 

She has work in seven hours. 

Great. 

Grimacing, she drains the rest of her coffee. The five large gulps set her body buzzing, her skin tingling. She’s wired. 

But she’s also awake. And will stay awake. 

Now, all she has to do is _think._

Chin in hand and elbow braced on the edge of the table, Rey returns her focus to the computer. To the problem set, and the code at hand. The inputs, the outputs, the built-in functions she thinks she might need. The commented out notes on how she should go about solving the problem each and every step of the way. 

Except for one step. The damnable last step. She stares. 

And stares. 

The bright white screen blurs. Lines and symbols cross. 

“Yeah?” comes Ben’s deep, resonant voice. “Well, when my uncle found out I was an Alpha, he refused to talk to me for two _years_.” 

Rey’s elbow slips, and her head hits the table faster than she can blink. 

Slams into it, really. 

_Right_ in the middle of her forehead. 

She’s not conscious of the sound she makes, only knows that it's sharp and abbreviated and all but reverberates around the empty room. 

Well, the mostly empty room. Ben is still there, after all. Paige, too. 

It is utterly, achingly silent as Ben cranes his long neck over his computer monitor. “Are you—Rey, are you okay?” 

“Fine!” she says as shock transitions to pain. Pulsing tendrils that shoot through her body. “I’m fine!” 

“Are you sure?” he asks, not sounding very convinced. He stands. His brow is pinched. 

“Yep!” she calls, her voice quick and high-pitched. “Just slipped, is all. Hit my funny bone.” 

“But I—okay,” she hears him say. Hears him, because she’s already turned back around. 

Has hurriedly scooted her wheely chair flush to the table and started typing complete and utter gibberish in confident, determined strokes. 

Eyes burning and heart racing out of her chest, she stares at the glowing screen. At her nonsense code. 

After several pooled seconds, she hears him sit down. 

It does nothing to calm her hypervigilant state. She’s jittery, jumpy, far too keyed up. 

Because— _Alpha._

Ben Solo had just said he was an _Alpha_. Out loud and to another person. 

She’s hallucinating. 

The coffee, the stress, the lack of sleep—she has to be hallucinating. It’s the only rational explanation. 

Maybe five seconds later, she sneaks a glance over her shoulder. 

He’s still there. Perfectly normal. Perfectly tall. Broad-shouldered, pale-skinned, scowling. The same as before. 

Before the— _glitch in the Matrix_ , or whatever the fuck. 

With a waved hand, Paige resumes their conversation. She seems to be making a concerted effort to keep her voice down, but they’re in a library. Sound travels. 

“What you said earlier?” she asks. “Yeah, I’ve met your uncle. That Alpha reveal...” she trails off, wincing. “I can see him not handling it well.” 

Ben sighs bitterly. “He thinks I became an Alpha to spite him. Like it was a choice I made with him in mind.” 

Rey’s eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of her head. 

“What the fuck,” she breathes out, staring sightlessly down at her keyboard. _“What the fuck.”_

Paige makes a low, sympathetic noise. “I’m a Beta, just like my mom. Just like my little sister. I really can’t imagine.” 

“If I’d just gone the legacy route—” Ben cuts himself off. 

Or maybe Rey stops listening. 

For the first time since the AO3 email notification, she flips over her phone. 

Finn 🌩️ Storm   
  
**Today** 1:06 AM  
Finn, did you spike the coffee before I left for campus?  
  
**Read** 1:07 AM Lollll   
Jesus, Finn, I'm serious  
Nope. Not today  
Or ever, you absolute crazy person  
What's up?  
I think I'm dying. I think I'm dead.  
Switch to decaf.  
No  
Water.  
No  
Food.  
Ugh

She returns her phone to the table, heart hammering in her ears. Racing. A mile a minute. 

Maybe she has a concussion. 

“To be fair,” Paige says, “I remember you as a freshman. Everything out of your mouth was Alpha-this or Alpha-that for _months_. You were completely insufferable.” 

“You know what high school was like for me,” Ben mutters. “Becoming an Alpha here, being around all these other guys—it was a big change. Hard to get used to.” 

She must have a concussion. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. And she’s heard they get worse with each successive hit. 

Rey prods her forehead with the tips of her fingers, then winces, sucking in air through her teeth. 

It’s tender. Painful. 

She definitely, probably, hopefully has a concussion. 

“Alpha’s here are just all—well, you know the reputation they have. And you’re an asshole, don’t get me wrong, but you’re a _nice_ asshole. Not like that bastard Hux at all.” 

Jesus Christ. 

Jesus actual fucking _Christ_. 

She has to get out of here. Now. 

A few quick keystrokes, and she’s saved her work to her external hard drive, safely ejected it, and logged out of her student account. 

She staggers to her feet, throws her things in her bag, and speed-walks to the door. 

“Rey!” 

She ducks her head. 

“Hey, Rey!” 

She keeps walking. 

Out of the lab, down the steps, into the quiet, crisp of night. 

It’s like coming out of water. As soon as she breaches the library doors, she gasps, lungs burning, and takes in several deep, steadying breaths. 

What the fuck. What the _actual Twilight Zone_ fuck. 

Alphas. Betas. 

What was next— _Omegas?_

She cringes. 

Home. She needs to get _home_. To crawl in bed, pull the covers up over her head, and forget this ever happened. 

“Rey! Hey, Rey, hold on a second!” 

Rey feels her muscles lock up. 

He’d followed her. 

Of course. Of course he had. 

Slowly, she turns. The night is a dark one and seemingly starless, but the campus street lamps are a bright and burning yellow, illuminating the length of him clearly. Disorientingly. Her eyes land somewhere in the pink expanse of his polo and go no further. 

Rose-colored cotton rises, falls. 

Ben puffs out another heavy breath. “You’re really fast, you know that?” 

Did he—? Oh god, he did, didn’t he? 

He had _run_ after her. 

Rey's eyes dart to either side of him, up and down the empty, well-lit path. 

“What are you _doing_?” she asks, but in her panicked confusion, the words come out much harsher than she’d intended. She swallows, clenching her fingers. “Just—what are you doing? What’s going on?” 

Ben hesitates, seemingly taken aback at her tone. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

Rey crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be alright?” 

Ben frowns. “You hit your head,” he says slowly, carefully, like he thinks she might have forgotten. 

She hasn’t, obviously. How could she? 

“It was my elbow,” she lies, fingers constricting in the worn fabric of her hoodie. “I hit my elbow.” 

“Rey.” Ben takes a step closer. His eyes are a lighter brown than she remembers. They soften with concern. “Rey, I _saw_.” 

A blush heats her neck as she casts her eyes down to the sidewalk. 

There’s a crack. Right next to her sneakers. A fissure in the concrete. 

“I’m fine,” she insists, fighting the urge to rub her forehead. 

“I know,” Ben says, holding his hands out slightly. “I know you are. But it’s late, and I’m a worrier. Can I at least walk you back to your dorm?” 

The thought: _he’s concerned for you, just like an Alpha_ , flashes through her consciousness, making her flinch. Full-bodied. Terrible. 

She has to force herself to look up. 

Stiltedly, she says, “I don’t live on campus.” 

“Oh.” Ben runs an unsteady hand through his hair. He opens and closes his mouth before saying, “I thought you were a first-year.” 

“Non-traditional student,” Rey lets out, still strained. She hugs herself tighter. “And I have my bike.” 

“Then let me drive you. You can leave your bike here overnight.” 

Her fingers tighten, and her chest expands. 

Her head _is_ pulsing. Something’s clearly not right. 

“Please,” Ben adds, not a second later. 

And that settles it. 

Because, _please,_ he says. 

Please. As in pleading. 

Ben Solo. Him. The guy who’d flat-out told her hadn’t expected her to do _‘nearly this well’_ during last week’s office hours. The guy who’d very clearly commented that her questions were _‘quite insightful for a first-year’_ in front of everyone in her recitation. 

The guy who’d said, plainly and in public, that he was an Alpha. 

She is losing her mind. 

Rey takes a deep breath before shaking her head. 

“Are you fucking with me?” 

A blink. Another. “Excuse me?” he asks. 

“Are you fucking with me?” she repeats, enunciating each word and narrowing her eyes. “Today. Earlier. Right now.” He has to be. 

“I don’t—” Ben looks genuinely confused. His hair sways as he shakes his head. “I’m just worried about you, Rey. I want to make sure you get home safe.” 

Rey’s arms drop limply to her sides. “You expect me to believe that’s all that’s going on?” 

“What are you talking about?” he asks, seemingly perplexed. 

She lowers her voice. “Don’t make me say it,” she hisses up at him, feeling her cheeks grow hot. 

Ben doesn’t respond. 

Doesn’t say anything at all, actually. Not for a terribly long and drawn-out moment. 

But then, just as she’s _sure_ he’s about to call her crazy and pretend like he has no idea what she’s talking about, she sees it. Acknowledgment. Recognition. 

The blush _blooms_ across his cheeks. 

“Okay—I’m. Okay. Yeah.” His shoulders hunch. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

“You _have_.” 

He winces, pink-cheeked, and takes a step back. “I’m sorry.” 

Rey’s heart thuds in her ears. Her fingertips are tingling. She shakes her head for what feels like the millionth time. 

“Look, I—I have work in six-and-a-half hours, and finals are right around the corner, and I’ve had far too much coffee today, and—I just want to go home.” 

Ben looks down at the ground. He nods. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” 

“I need my bike for work tomorrow,” she says in a tone that brooks no argument. 

“Okay.” He swallows. Nods again. “I’m sorry to ask, but could you—could you send me an email when you get back to your place? Just so I know you got there alright?” 

He seems almost ashamed to have asked. 

It’s yet another thing she can’t process. Can’t begin to comprehend. 

So she doesn’t try. 

“Fine.” 

“Thank you,” Ben says on a breath. Awkwardly, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives her one last long, inscrutable look. 

Then he leaves. 

Rey watches him go, feeling the strangest mix of detachment and anxiety as she does. 

Once he’s out of sight, she unlocks her bike from the rack, texts Finn that she’s on her way back, and sets off, finally, toward home. 

  


  


  


It hits her right as she crosses Fowler. 

Or, as everyone else at her school calls it, _Fraternity Row_. 

Fraternities. Sororities. Pledge classes. 

The realization is not unlike getting plowed into by a semi-truck. She feels sucker-punched. So overcome with embarrassment that she has to pull over. 

She wheels her bike to the sidewalk, then collapses next to it, taking deep, indrawn breaths—only, they don’t come out as deep. Not at all. They’re the opposite, in fact. Short. Shallow. And she can’t seem to make them stop. Can’t seem to do _anything_. She feels like she’s going to crawl out of her _skin_. 

A girl with a gold scrunchie around her wrist pauses in the middle of the sidewalk. Pulls away from her friends and stumbles over to Rey. “Hey there, are you okay?” 

The girl’s skirt is short. She’s holding an open can of Wild Berry Truly. 

Rey nods a bit, wide-eyed. Her chest stutters in and out. “Yeah, I—yeah, I think so.” 

The girl pats her shoulder. “Finals season,” she says with an air of understanding, then sways a bit on her feet, bracing herself on Rey. “Happens to the’best of us. You’ll get through it.” 

Rey nods. 

“Do you want me to sit with you?” 

Rey shakes her head. “No. No, I’m okay. I’m alright.” 

She feels like she’s going to die. 

  


  


  


**Benjamin Solo** <[benjamin.solo@gatech.edu](https://twitter.com/AllFrak)> 2:24 AM (0 minutes ago)

Hi Rey, 

I’m glad you made it back safely. Thank you for letting me know. 

You have nothing to apologize for. At all. I’m deeply sorry I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. I promise this will have no bearing on the rest of the semester, but if you would like to raise the matter with Professor Ackbar, I understand. 

All the best,  
Ben 

Benjamin Solo  
B.S./M.S. Program in Computer Science  
Georgia Institute of Technology  
Class of 2021 

> On Sat, Nov 30, 2019 at 2:21 AM Rey Niima <[rey.niima.1@google.com](https://twitter.com/AllFrak)> wrote: 
> 
> I’m home safe. I’m so so sorry for being rude earlier. it’s no excuse, but I’m feeling really out of it. The semester is finally getting to me, i think. 
> 
> Please, for my sanity, can we just pretend like tongiht never happened? 
> 
> Rey 

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ios texting comes from [this amazing & easy to follow tutorial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722). all other css stuff here is just me dicking around. 
> 
> i'm [@allfrak](https://twitter.com/AllFrak) on twitter. come yell at me or something


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe this was supposed to be a oneshot? :) :) :)
> 
> big ups to [jenfysnest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenfysNest/pseuds/JenfysNest) for the beta. as always, i messed w/this after sending it to her.
> 
> also, i am legally required to disclaim how soft this is  
> twas not my intention, but i am me, so.  
> 

Rey doesn’t respond to his reply until late Sunday evening. 

At first, it’s because she doesn’t see it. She falls into bed after hitting send, clenches her eyes shut, and is startled awake by the spine-rending blare of her alarm not a second later. 

Then it’s work. And Plutt. And it’s a nightmare. One she’s used to and normally well-equipped enough to deal with. 

But today bone-deep mortification strikes when she’s least expecting it. Overwhelms her, then retreats at inconsistent, unpredictable intervals. It wears. Grates. 

She’d been so utterly stupid. 

Fraternities, while not a huge thing here, _are_ still a thing. 

Hell, _Rose_ is in a sorority. It’s not like Greek life is wholly removed from her college experience. 

Like glands are. Like knotting is. 

Ugh. God. 

She’s a disaster. A living, breathing, walking disaster of a person. 

Plutt thinks so, too. 

“Don’t come to my shop hungover, girl. How many times do I have to tell you?” 

“I’m not,” she protests, too tired to stop herself. “I don’t even drink.” 

Plutt sneers. He looms over her work table, looking her up and down. 

“You better not. Or you’ll be out, you hear me? I know how you college students are. Spoiled. _Entitled_. Think you’re _better than_.” 

Rey puts down the iPhone she’s just finished repairing. “I’m taking my lunch break.” 

  


  


  


When she does finally see it, she chokes. 

Peanut butter and jelly catch in her throat, and she coughs, attempting to swallow even as she fumbles with her phone like it’s burned her. She just barely stops herself from hurling it across the parking lot. 

For the next several hours, Rey does her level best to forget about his email, which means she actively works not to think about it, which means it’s always there and present, simmering under the surface of her every action. Awful. Suffocating. 

The weekend continues on regardless. 

She finishes her problem set. Practices her presentation. Studies for her upcoming Media Computation exam with Rose. Cries in the shower. Sort of finishes her readings. Looks at the impressive bruise forming at the center of her forehead. Considers bangs. Does _not_ do her laundry but does manage to convince Finn to pick up five frozen Cheese & Green Chile Tamales for her at Trader Joe’s. 

She goes back to work at Plutt’s. 

The email, and by extension her embarrassment, exerts itself as a long, silent scream in her heart. Except it’s more high-pitched than silent. A sound that resonates and reverberates at the boundaries of her awareness, one she can almost convince herself she doesn’t hear. 

Her go-to survival strategy is to bury. To hide. And she does. She’s good at it. 

For a while. 

For a little. 

All the way up until late Sunday, the night before lecture. The thought of what might happen if she _doesn’t_ respond, of Ben actually and for reasons passing understanding, _escalating_ their horrifying library interaction to Professor Ackbar—it’s a mortification ace in the hole. She can’t not respond. 

> _No, it’s fine. Seriously, let’s forget it_. 

Seven words that take her over thirty-two hours to send. 

His response comes less than three minutes later. 

> _Okay._

  


  


  


Finals are a slow-moving hell. 

Grinding. Relentless. Most days, she’s so stressed she can hardly see straight. 

But, as the kindhearted sorority girl had predicted, she makes it through. 

Her GPA makes it through. 

Her bank account makes it through. 

Her sanity... sort of makes it through. 

Somehow. For now. 

  


  


  


“We’re alive!” Finn slings an arm over her shoulder. “Look at us doing the damn thing. Told you we could college.” 

Rey feels like a sponge that’s been thoroughly wrung out and left to dry in the sink. She’s tired behind the eyes; exhausted yet unable to sleep. Her body doesn’t quite believe she’s done. 

But she is. She's done. With the entire semester. 

Her first, and she _did it._

“And we didn’t just survive,” Finn adds with a fierce, faraway grin, “we _thrived._ ” 

Rey pulls away from him long enough to flop face-down on the couch. “Ugh,” she lets out, her words garbled in the thick upholstery. “I would not consider this thriving.” 

“Nonsense,” he rebuts easily. “You showed the CS boys club who’s boss, and I kicked the PoliSci department’s ass. Now stop fishing for compliments and go take a nap. We need to leave for Poe’s at nine. We can MARTA there, but we’ll have to Lyft back.” 

Rey lifts her head from a threadbare throw pillow. “I’m sorry. _What?_ ” 

“Poe’s,” Finn says. At her blank look, he sighs. “The kickback? I told you about this.” 

He didn’t. 

“You didn’t.” 

“Pretty sure I did. Poe did, too. There was an invite. An e-vite. Whatever. Doesn’t matter—we’re going.” 

“We’re not.” 

“We are.” 

“ _I’m_ not. I’m going to eat dinner, then sleep for one million years.” 

Finn snorts. “You are going to sleep for _an hour._ Two hours tops. Then we’re leaving. At nine.” 

“We’re not.” 

“We are.” 

“Over my cold, dead, exhausted body.” 

  


  


  


They go. 

  


  


  


Finn is wearing a leather jacket that does _not_ belong to him, and Rey is dragging her feet. It takes them over an hour to get to Kirkwood. 

Poe is on them immediately. As soon as they walk through the door, almost like he’d been waiting for them. 

Well, for Finn. 

Poe kisses her cheek, puts an ice-cold can of coconut LaCroix in her hand, and then steals away with her best friend. They’re seamless, his actions. Almost faster than she can track. 

“We’ll only be a minute,” he insists, fingers curled around the sleeve of not-Finn’s leather jacket. 

Finn gives her a worried, apologetic smile, but his eyes are doing this hopeful little dance as he waits for her reaction. Earnest. Entreating. He looks so nervous and cautiously excited that there’s really only one thing she can say. 

“Go.” She waves them off. “I’ll see you in a minute, right?” 

A wink from Poe. A grin from Finn that threatens to split his face. 

And a held breath that escapes Rey the moment they reach the kitchen. 

Sinking shoulders. A bitten lip. 

Her eyes skirt the open living room, cataloging, tracking, looking for Rose. 

The friends-only kickback is more of a nerdy rager. A cluster of girls draft _Magic: The Gathering_ cards, and a thick crowd of people she doesn’t know surround Snap and Paige Tico as they play a very vocal round of Drunk Driving Mario Kart on a Raspberry Pi N64 emulator. Also, Kaydel Connix is trying to rope people into a game of Never Have I Ever. 

Rey stashes her jacket, then hovers against a back wall, safely tucked away. 

Rose?  
Are you here yet?  
Poe took off with Finn  
Where are you?  


Nothing. 

She continues her fruitless search for all of four minutes before Kaydel attempts meaningful eye contact with her. 

Rey ducks out the nearest door, which happens to lead outside. Poe’s place is split with Paige and Kaydel and another Political Science major she doesn’t know; it’s far away from campus, but in exchange, they have a lot of space. It’s a nice house. A real person house. 

There’s a back porch _and_ a backyard. Fenced in, with grass and everything. 

And a Ben Solo. He’s out here, too. 

He’s sitting on the raised wooden porch, all alone and staring out at nothing. For the first time she can recall, he’s wearing something other than a collared shirt. 

It’s a sweater. Loose, knit, and darkly-colored. It... looks good on him. 

“Oh,” Rey says, stuttering to a stop. “Hello.” 

Ben looks up at her, squinting. Cradled in his lap is an empty green beer bottle. The label has been removed from it—picked off, either absently or purposefully. Something about it tugs at her heart. 

“That’s the worst flavor, you know.” 

Rey blinks, looking back to his face. “I’m sorry?” 

“Coconut,” he elaborates, the word tumbling out. “It’s the worst flavor by far. It tastes like ass.” 

Rey rears back. “It does _not._ ” 

“No,” Ben allows. “But it does taste like popcorn jelly beans.” 

“I—like both of those things,” Rey says, slightly bewildered. “Popcorn. Jelly beans. And also this drink.” 

“You would.” 

“I’d like something that tastes like ass?” 

“No,” Ben says quickly. He frowns. “I’m—fuck. No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“Right,” Rey says. “Sure.” 

Ben presses a hand to his face. 

“I always manage to do this,” he mutters through his palm. He puffs out a breath so harsh his shoulders shake. 

Rey opens her mouth, then shuts it, unable to find the words. 

Her face must ask the question for her, though, because Ben drags his hand away and plows ahead with a grimace. 

“Stick my foot in my mouth. Make an idiot of myself. Say the wrong thing. Somehow, always, around you.” His tone is self-deprecating, but it’s also rich with conviction. Like what he’s saying is a fact. A mathematical truth. 

Rey is very good at math. Usually. Normally. But she finds herself lost here, what he’s saying to be beyond comprehension. 

The further she chases his meaning, the more adrift she becomes, and the more Ben’s expression clears. He blinks, then, like a thought has occurred to him. A minor epiphany. “Shit, do you want me to go inside? I can leave you alone.” 

Rey’s mouth goes slack. Ben stumbles to his feet. 

“What are you—? No. No, god. You don't need to leave,” Rey says emphatically. “You were here first. Don’t go.” 

Ben pauses, staring down at her. He's—tall. 

Has he always been this tall? 

“Are you sure?” 

Rey swallows. “Of course I’m sure,” she says with far more confidence than she feels. She gestures roughly with her ass-flavored bubbly water. “Sit.” 

Amazingly, he does. 

His long legs branch out over the porch and onto the spindly grass below. In an attempt at normalcy, Rey sinks to the ground next to him, three feet away, and crosses her legs. 

Cold from the wooden slats seeps through her jeans. 

Neither of them speak. 

“So...” he starts awkwardly, looking out at the yard. “You did well on the final.” 

Rey makes a face. “I—don’t want to talk about class.” 

“Right.” Ben flushes. Grimaces. “Sorry.” 

“No, not like that,” she adds. “Well, maybe a bit like that. I just—I want to take a break from everything. What happened— _finals_ —it was intense.” 

“Yeah,” Ben says. His tone is weighted. 

Rey bites her lip. Fidgeting, she asks, “So, um, how do you know Poe?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Oh?” 

“Not really. I know of him, I guess. He used to date a fraternity brother of mine, Armitage Hux. They’re old news now. A pseudo-amicable breakup. Or something. I don’t know.” 

Rey’s heart does a ridiculous thumping swoop at the f-word. _Fraternity._

She takes a desperate sip from her LaCroix. Bubbles pop and slide across her tongue. 

“Cool,” she says, after she swallows, and nods. 

And nods. 

And catches herself still nodding, bobbing her head in time like an overpriced FunkoPop doll. 

She stops herself. 

Ben is still staring out at the fenced-in backyard like he can see through the shadows. His Adam’s apple dips along the length of his pale throat. 

It’s flushed a little, his throat. Patchy and pink. His cheeks are stained the same color. 

He’s not looking at her. 

The longer Rey looks at _him_ , the more obvious it becomes just how much he’s not looking at her. 

His massive hands are curled around the wooden decking. The paint is peeling, flecked and weather-worn. A dark green. Or perhaps a dark navy. It’s hard to tell the exact color in the dim light, but his hands are visible enough. Prominent. Inescapable. Curled and clenching, like he’s holding on, and just barely; like he needs to, or he’ll be swept away. 

“Am I...” she starts as a thought occurs to her for the first time. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” 

Ben’s fingers constrict. 

He’s going to give himself a splinter. He’s going to rip up the boards. 

“No,” he says, voice rough. 

He’s a liar. 

An utterly transparent liar. 

Her eyes travel from his large, pale hands, to his strong arm, to his long neck, to his profile. The line and shape of it, the emotion caught in the corner of his mouth. The flush of his cheek. The tightness in his eye. 

A thought begins to form. Niggling, loose, and dangerous. Because—it’s strange, isn’t it? His reaction. His motives. His all-too-obvious tells. 

She hasn’t been able to translate them, hasn't been able to decode them—hasn’t even allowed herself to try. Not really. 

That Friday night, that Saturday morning—she’d been caught up and consumed, overrun by her ridiculous panic and very real stress. Had focused on herself, her thoughts, her worries. But Ben... His place in this... 

Where the fuck does he come in? 

Aluminum creaks, the metal LaCroix can bending, denting in the shape of her fingers. She sucks in a breath. 

“Ben, I—” He’s not looking at her. “I’m a little confused here.” She frowns. Clears her throat. “Could we—could we talk?” He’s still not looking at her. 

Until he is. Until he does. 

The emotion in his eyes is staggering. 

He’s always been intense. Intelligent. But she is lost in his eyes. Swept away in their hazel light; in their focus, in the attention he gives her. 

She shivers. 

And his attention diverts. As easy as that. 

He frowns down at her bare forearms, brow knitting. “Are you cold?” 

“No.” 

He takes off his sweater. 

Just—pulls it right off, mussing his hair and leaving him in only a thin white undershirt. 

“Here,” he says, holding it out to her and staring just over her shoulder. 

Rey feels her eyes widen. “I said I wasn’t cold.” 

“I know.” 

His hand stays extended. Stubbornly. Belligerently. 

And, really, she _is_ cold. Her skin tight, her hair raised. A mild discomfort. Easy to overlook, especially with practice. 

Chest expanding and goosebumps dancing along her arms, she accepts his offering. 

The sweater is soft and enormous and heavy in her hands. It’s still warm. 

When she puts it on, it hangs from her, sliding off of one shoulder, pooling at her wrists, bunching at her waist and spilling over onto the deck. It’s softer on, somehow. And warmer. A rush to her senses. 

It smells like... like her pulse is racing. Like inhaling deeply and holding her breath. 

Like an answer, and a decision. Perhaps a stupid one. 

She’s many things but not this much of an idiot. 

“You... like me,” she says, testing out the words. The truth in them. 

Wincing, Ben nods. 

“For how long?” she asks, feeling the distance between them shrink, feeling mildly like she’s floating. 

“Always, it seems like,” he whispers. “Since before I met you, maybe.” His eyes flick—finally, bravely—to hers. “And then more every day.” 

Her stomach flutters. A thousand tiny butterflies bursting to life, moving in the same direction. 

Up, up. 

He’d liked her. He _likes_ her. 

She kisses him. 

The knit sweater falls down her arms, and her fingers tighten in his hair, and Ben is stock-still under her. 

Frozen. Unmoving. Not even breathing. 

Rey pulls back, stomach plummeting, and meets his wide brown eyes. 

Her hands drop. Horrified, she scoots back. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “I shouldn’t have—I should have asked.” 

Ben blinks at her. “You—you kissed me.” 

Rey breathes in heavily, panic sitting in her like a rock, sinking her, pulling her down. But she answers. “Yes.” 

“You want to kiss me.” 

It’s true. “Yes.” 

A look akin to wonder breaks across his face. Slowly, steady as the dawn. “Ask me.” 

“What?” 

“Ask me,” he says again, certain. His meaning clear. 

“Can I—” she swallows, whispering, “—can I kiss you?” 

He leans forward. His eyes are dark. Dilated. “Yes.” 

They reach for each other. 

She kisses him with her heart in her throat. He returns her kiss with one of his own. 

Eyes closed, she feels a strong arm pull her closer to his body. Feels a large hand come up to cradle her face. Rey tightens her hands deep in his hair, along the nape of his neck. His skin is smooth. Warm and soft. So soft. 

His full lips work against hers, pliant and demanding. She’s melting. Floating. 

She pulls back for air. She blinks, breathing heavily, knowing with absolute certainty that she’s never been kissed like that in her life. 

Ben cradles her cheek in his hand. 

With a gentleness that hitches her breath, he reaches up to her forehead with his other hand. The tip of his pointer finger trails over her skin. A whisper. A trace. “I was worried about you.” 

Rey’s voice breaks. “You were?” 

“Yes.” His finger ghosts over her forehead again, over the bruise she knows is almost faded, hardly visible. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I want to kiss you again.” 

His lips twitch up until two dimples form. 

Smiling. He’s _smiling._

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, flashing her a crooked bicuspid. His thumb sweeps across her cheekbone. 

“I know what you meant,” she says, unable to pull her eyes from his mouth. From his smile. “I want to kiss you again. Can I?” 

He shakes his head, smiling down at her. “Rey,” he says with a tone of amazed disbelief, “you can kiss me anytime you want.” 

“Okay,” she says, inhaling through her nose, and kisses him again. 

She crawls on top of him. 

Is on him, legs wrapped around his waist, hands floating between his hair and his neck and the bare skin of his arms. The hard muscles there. The dark hair, the goosebumps. 

She feels like she’s flying. Into and far down and away. 

His mouth leaves hers, trailing hotly across her skin. Warming her, lighting her up, sparking over the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. A shiver races down her spine. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Rey,” he pants into her neck. “So beautiful, so—so—” she grinds herself against him, whimpering, “ _—fuck_.” 

She swallows her next whimper, catching it in her throat. She grinds against him again, pushing closer, pressing herself against the rough fabric of his jeans, against the length of his cock. 

He’s hard under her. Huge. 

Her blood sings as Ben’s hands come around her back, hungry and heated. He lets out a deep, pained sound. She rocks again. 

_“Rey.”_

His lips suck a hungry line down her neck. His hands fall lower on her back. Fumbling, searching, finding their way underneath the folds of her sweater. 

Of—of _his_ sweater. 

He’d given her his sweater. 

_Fuck._

Ben bites gently at the juncture of her neck, making Rey gasp, an embarrassing, unhinged sound. She’s alight. Burning with want and being wanted. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” she whines, voice strung out and pitifully high. It sounds like she’s about to cry. She thinks she might. 

Ben pulls her closer. His hands find their way beneath her shirt, to her bare skin, to her bra. He lets out a rough sound into her neck. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Pleasure builds in her, tight and blinding. Her clit aches and her heart soars and her chest is rising and falling and rising and falling and— 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she whines, clutching Ben’s hair. “Fuck, I think I—“ 

“Armie, I’ve told you I can’t do that!” 

“And I’ve told you I don’t give a damn what Dameron or _anyone_ says about how I—oh, hello. What do we have here?” 

Rey’s eyes pop open, and Ben’s hands on her back constrict, right at the threshold of pain. 

Dizzily, she blinks. 

“Rose?” she asks, off-kilter. Confused beyond belief. 

Rose is there alright. A Yuengling is gripped in her hand, and her mouth is hanging open. She’s standing next to a tall stick figure of a redhead in a royal blue Patagonia fleece. 

The redhead—Armie, she presumes—grins. 

“Benjamin,” he says in a smarmy British accent. “Have you found a friend?” 

Ben pulls his head from Rey’s neck and swings it toward the door. 

_“Hux,”_ he growls out, voice low and threatening. 

“Rey,” Rose says, her eyes shocked and wide. 

_“Rey?”_ Hux asks, sounding like Christmas has come early, and on his birthday, too. “So you’ve found a _student._ ” 

For a second, Ben makes like he’s about to stand. About to cross the deck and grab Hux by the throat, nevermind that Rey is sitting in his lap. And, for that second, Rey thinks he’s going to, knows he’s capable. 

Instead, his hands come up protectively around her back, over his sweater, bunching up the fabric. “Watch your fucking mouth.” 

“Easy there, _bro_ ,” Hux taunts, grinning and gleeful. “There are ladies present.” 

Before Rey can speak, Rose smacks Hux in the gut with the back of her hand. “Yes, there are. Now stop your little pissing contest or whatever; it’s gross.” 

Hux sucks in a breath and bends at the waist, playing it up. “Rose,” he gasps, betrayed. 

Rose rolls her eyes. She grabs Hux by the arm and looks at Rey. “Call me tomorrow?” 

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You bet.” 

“Cool.” Rose nods, then pulls a protesting Hux through a sliding door and into what appears to be a bedroom. Paige’s, most likely. 

Rey lets out a breath. “What the hell was that?” 

“Hux,” Ben snarls, and in a way that makes it clear the word is synonymous with _dead man._

And Rey can’t help it—she bursts into giggles. A fit of them, her shoulders shaking helplessly. 

She hides her face in her hands, in the sleeves of his sweater. Every time she attempts to get a grip on herself, she snorts, her shoulders trembling harder. 

Finally, a minute and an hour later, she peeks up at him. 

His fierce, murderous expression has melted into something that could almost be mistaken for fondness. 

Rey’s heart catches in her throat, looking at him. Looking at the way he’s looking at her. 

She rests her hands along the strong planes of his chest. 

“Ben, could you drive me back to my place?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you on [twitter](https://twitter.com/AllFrak)?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished! complete with 1k of a pseudo-epilogue included _in_ this chapter, because if i drew this fic out to 4 chapters i would have absolutely lost my mind 
> 
> enjoy that soft fic resolution, y'all
> 
> ❤️

They leave in a rush, and the ride is a blur, and they’re at her apartment before she knows it. Rey hardly has time to _think._

At least, that’s what she’d been expecting. Hoping for. 

Reality is... not like that. 

To start, Rey can’t find her jacket. 

When she’d split from Finn, she’d tossed it on a bed piled with purses and coats and other miscellaneous winter things. But now it’s gone. Missing. Nowhere to be found. 

She heaves a thick black pea coat up the mattress, then exhales through her nose. She’s frustrated. Annoyed and—not _panicked_ , she doesn’t panic when she loses things anymore—just mildly distressed. 

But mostly, mainly, frustrated. Because it’s Georgia, and nobody actually _needs_ a knee-length puffer jacket in Georgia. Who are they trying to kid? 

“Hey.” 

Rey drops an offwhite infinity scarf and turns, glancing over her shoulder. 

“Ready to go?” Ben asks her. His tone is soft. Cautious. 

He’s standing at the door to Kaydel’s room, backlit by the hallway lights. Tall and solid, filling out a substantial portion of the frame. Rey’s pulse ticks up, just from looking at him. 

Because they’re going. Leaving. To fuck. 

He knows it, and she knows it, and by now, it’s possible other people at the party know it, too. 

Her stomach flips, over and again. Light and tumbling, nameless and anticipatory. Something like nerves, like excitement—an almost-but-not-quite. 

Because it’s different, isn’t it, when it’s not done in a rush? 

When lust clears. When heat fades. 

She nods at Ben, stomach flipping once more. Another somersault. Embers and kindling. 

“Yeah,” she says. “One second.” 

Finn 🌩️ Storm   
  
**Today** 10:59 PM  
Couldn’t find you  
  
But wanted to let you know a friend is driving me home  
Also, my jacket is missing (the jean one), so pleasepleaseplease bring it with you when you come back  
And Venmo me for half of your Lyft ride, ok? I mean it  


“Rey?” 

Her eyes flick up from her phone long enough to catch Ben fidgeting, shifting his weight. 

He looks tense. Anxious and uncertain. 

The wide, reassuring smile she sends him seems to help, though. He stills, his head tilting sideways. 

“Last thing,” she promises, then fires off a final series of texts. 

  
Also he may still be there when you get back tonight (????) so don’t knock on my door if it’s shut  
  
Going silent  
Have fun, be safe, enjoy the rest of the party, etc etc ❤️❤️❤️  


  


“Okay,” she says, and looks up with a grin. “Ready to go.” 

  


  


  


It’s a nice night. 

Cool, quiet. Cars line the street, and lamplight filters through the trees, leading them down the sleepy, family-friendly block and around the corner. Rey snuggles into Ben’s sweater as they walk, hands curling around the soft fabric, bunching it between her fingers. A lightness bubbles in her chest. 

Her arms swing with it, and a smile plays across her face. 

Ben is a solid presence next to her. Large. Sweeping. At one point, her hand skims his, his fingers somehow snagging on the fabric in her fist before Rey is able to pull back, feeling silly for bumping into him, for how widely and childishly she’d been swinging her arms. 

“Sorry,” she says, tucking them against her sides. 

Ben’s eyes dart away, skittish. Down and ahead. “It’s fine,” he says quickly. He swallows. “We’re almost there.” 

After that, their walk is silent. Charged yet comfortable. Then Ben stops in front of a sleek black 2018 Audi S5 Coupe, and Rey wants to laugh. 

And she does. A little. An unintentional exhaled puff. 

“Is this _yours_?” she blurts out on her next breath. 

It is. 

She _knows_ it is. The lights have flashed on; the doors have been unlocked; a key fob is out in his hand. 

“Yeah,” Ben answers easily, looking at her like she’s said something cute instead of horribly moronic. 

Head shaking slightly, Rey settles into the passenger seat, taking great care not to scuff the dash or scratch the leather. Ben presses a button to turn on the car, then fiddles with a set of console dials. 

After maybe five seconds, heat radiates from her seat, seeping into her back and butt and thighs. 

Rey gasps. A small, embarrassing inhalation. 

“That alright?” Ben asks. 

“Great,” she says, forcing herself to relax. “It’s great. No complaints here.” 

Ben’s lips quirk. “The controls are right there if it gets too hot,” he says, then gestures to a built-in LCD screen. “What’s your address?” 

She tells him. 

The GPS says it’s a short trip. Much shorter than the trip out here via MARTA, anyway. Maybe fifteen minutes once they get on 85. 

Ben is a fast driver, though, and seems intent on shaving every second he can from the GPS’s estimate. He also keeps looking at her. Sneaking little glances as he’s driving—at a stoplight, as he merges onto the highway, as he’s changing lanes. 

After a particularly lingering look, she feels compelled to speak up. “Watch the road, Solo.” 

His shoulders tense. “Sorry,” he says, his eyes flitting to hers, then catching on her teasing smirk. 

He stares at it for longer than he probably should given how fast he’s driving, hands flexing over the steering wheel. Squeezing, tightening. Rey can _feel_ the energy burning off of him, building between them. Thick and swirling. 

His hands tighten again, and an image materializes in her mind, crystalline and clear. Of his hands. Of them on her later. Long fingers flexing, contracting. Spreading her thighs, holding her open; stilling her, guiding her, filling h— 

“What are you doing for break?” 

Rey blinks, and the image shatters. 

“Come again?” she coughs. 

“Winter break,” Ben says, the epitome of casual. “Are you doing anything? Going anywhere?” 

“No. No, I have to work.” 

It’s true. 

A partial truth, maybe, but a truth nonetheless. 

“Oh,” Ben says. “That sucks. I’m sorry.” It sounds like he actually means it. “What do you do? For work, I mean.” 

It is—not a line of conversation Rey wants to be having. Ever, really, but especially not now. She can’t see a way around it, though. 

“I work at a repair shop. Plutt’s. It’s near the Krispy Kreme on Ponce. It’s mostly screen replacements for iPhones and quick fixes for other small electronics.” 

“That sounds interesting.” 

Rey laughs. “It’s not. At all. It’s awful. But, you know,” she shrugs, and looks at a passing car, “rent. And food. A girl’s gotta eat.” 

Ben goes quiet. 

The mood is killed. 

Rey looks out the passenger window, barely keeping herself from pressing her forehead against the glass. 

Lights streak by. Reds. Whites. 

“What’s your favorite food?” 

Rey turns, blinking. “To eat?” 

“Yes.” A smile nudges Ben’s lips. “Or to cook, I guess. Take your pick.” 

“I’m a hopeless cook,” she admits slowly. “Never really learned.” She pauses before offering, “I do love to eat, though.” 

“Yeah?” His voice is bright. Interested. The blinker clicks rhythmically as he makes a turn. “What’s your favorite thing?” 

“Breakfast food.” She doesn’t have to think. 

Ben huffs an amused breath. “Breakfast food?” 

“Yes,” she answers, firm. “All day, every day. For every meal, if I could get away with it.” 

His eyes crinkle. “What kind?” 

“All of it,” she says. “The whole genre.” 

“Pancakes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Cereal?” 

“Yes.” 

“Grits?” 

“ _Yes._ ” 

“Bacon?” 

“Oh my god, Ben,” she groans. “Stop. You’re making me hungry.” 

“Am I?” he asks, low and teasing. 

A startled laugh escapes her. 

As she looks at him, still laughing and a little breathless with it, the car slows to a park. 

They’re here. They’ve made it. 

Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and she does not miss how Ben’s eyes track the movement. Heat rises in her, embers kicked over. 

“So,” she says, fingers skimming over the length of her seatbelt, “do you want to come up?” 

  


  


  


What follows is a combustible series of almosts. 

Hands almost touching, Rey almost talking, Ben almost stumbling into her on the stairs. It’s still building, what’s happening between them. Sparking and anticipatory. 

When she unlocks her front door, then shoulders her way inside, her heart begins to exert itself in earnest, becoming an audible thing, pounding in her ears. 

She flicks on the overhead lights. 

Ben blinks, eyes adjusting. He steps forward, a foot-and-a-half shy of the ceiling, and looks around. 

Unironically, he says, “Nice place.” 

Rey snorts. “It’s a shithole.” 

And it is at that. A slapdash construction, all laminate and peeling linoleum, but Ben just sends her a smile like he thinks she’s told a joke, then wanders further into the apartment, squinting around. Looking at everything and nothing like he wants to see. 

It is not something she is remotely prepared to handle. Not from a hookup. Not from him. 

“Can I show you my room?” she asks, a whisper away from desperate. 

Ben jerks up from inspecting an _I Recycle (And You Should Too!)_ magnet on the fridge. “Uh, yeah.” His voice wavers, almost cracking. “Sure.” 

She leads him down the short hallway and over her to her door. 

Opens it. Steps inside. 

Another flick of a switch, harder this time. 

As light washes over them, Rey balls her hands in his sweater, trying to imagine what he sees. 

Ben, who wears name brand polo shirts. Ben, who drives an Audi. 

Is it the milk crates stacked as makeshift bookshelves? The rickety IKEA desk? The full mattress on the floor, tucked into the corner of the room and covered with faded floral Target sheets? There’s laundry, too, and lots of it. Overflowing her blue plastic hamper, spilling out of her closet and onto the floor. 

There. 

_Right_ there, and visible. 

Rey rushes forward, kicking black leggings and a dirty pair of underwear into her closet. 

She shuts the door, and turns, cheeks pink, trying for levity. 

“Well,” she says. “This is it.” 

Despite her tone, she’s curious, almost painfully so, as to what he’ll be looking at, inspecting like before. If it’ll be the secondhand furniture, the salvaged twinkling Christmas lights, the tiny Dogwood branch she’d hacked off on a walk and fastened to the ceiling with a piece of string. 

It’s not. 

It’s not any of those things. 

“It’s lovely,” Ben says, eyes fixed on her. 

Rey laughs, humorless, a hard and ugly sound. 

Ben furrows his brow. “I mean it.” 

“Sure you do,” she says with a smile. 

“I do.” His frown deepens. Grows roots. “You don’t believe me.” 

The way he says it, shoulders back and voice low—defensive, almost adversarial—her pulse rises. 

Fighting with him... she thinks she might like it. 

Might like it especially in moments like this one, where he’s so very clearly wrong. 

But fighting, talking—that’s not why they’re here. 

“It’s not a matter of belief,” Rey says, tossing her hair. 

“Oh?” Ben asks, eyes narrowed. 

“Yep,” she confirms easily. She steps forward. Closer. Into him. 

His frown wavers. “So what is it a matter of, then?” 

“Us,” she says. “It’s a matter of us. Us touching. Fucking.” Ben sucks in a breath. She looks up at him through her lashes. “But first I’m going to kiss you. If you still want me to, that is.” 

His chest swells. White undershirt stretching, stretching. 

“What’d I say earlier?” His pupils are wide now. Blown black. 

Rey bites her lip. “That I could kiss you whenever I wanted.” She trails her finger up his torso. “That still true?” 

His eyes are riveted on her face. Her mouth. “Always.” 

Rey kisses him. 

Lifts up on her toes, twines her arms around his neck, and kisses him. 

Ben’s response is immediate. Effortless. One hand cups her face, and the other skims low, down and along the shallow of her back. His actions are easy, natural. Like he’s been kissing her for ages. Like it’s something he needs, and wants, and has done a thousand times before. Would do a thousand times again. 

It’s slow, his kiss. Sweet and gentle. 

Rey bites him. 

Sucks his bottom lip between her teeth and _bites_. Perhaps too hard. 

Ben hisses into her mouth. His hands clamp around her, yanking her flush to him. His chest rumbles against hers, a firm and present warning. Rey smiles. 

And then she sinks to her knees. 

Ben sputters. “W-what are you doing?” 

His belt clinks as she unfastens it. She unzips his fly, grinning up at him. “I’m going to kiss you. You said I could.” 

He curses. Several times in a row. They're muffled and pained and spat in a string, like she’d knocked the wind out of him. Rey pulls down his jeans, tugging his boxer briefs along with them, thrilling as his words wash over her, as his thighs tense under her. 

They’re solid muscle. Large and trembling. 

Her nails graze up, up, scratching lightly through his leg hair until it becomes thicker, coarser, dark. Ben’s head falls back, hands clenching at his sides. 

_“Fuck.”_

Rey smiles, sucking in a breath. It’s heady, this feeling. 

This power. This control. 

He’s as hard as he was an hour ago, but somehow, impossibly, twice as large. The biggest— _thickest_ —she’s been with. Easily. By far. 

Her fingers skim over him, teasing and grasping. He’s firm, smooth. Iron wrapped in silk. As warm, as _feverish,_ as she feels. 

Rey squirms, rubbing her legs together. Her grip on him tightens and her fingers adjust, the long sleeves of his sweater pooling down her wrists. 

Ben looks down at her and whimpers. 

Rey leads the blunt tip of his cock into her mouth and sucks. 

Musk. Salt. A muffled choking sound. 

She slides another thick inch of him inside, saliva making a mess of her mouth. She drips over him. Picks up a rhythm. 

Steady. Measured. 

Hardly all of him. Not even close. He’s larger, thicker than she could possibly take. 

He does not seem to mind. His hands clench and clutch and reach at his sides. 

“Jesus. Jesus,” he repeats. “ _Fuck_. You look so fucking pretty like that, Rey.” Rey hums up at him, and he makes a small whining sound. “Your smart fucking _mouth_.” 

Rey flushes, smiling around him. She swirls her tongue over his head, thrilling when his knees shake. 

She pulls back and mouths the underside of his cock. “You can touch me, you know. Put your hands in my hair. Pull a little.” 

His knuckles go white. 

Pleased with herself, Rey kisses the tip of his head, lips dragging softly over the sensitive skin. Once, then twice, then Ben steps back. Eyes wide, shoulders shaking. 

“If we go any further like this, I’m going to come. This isn’t—this isn’t how I want to come.” 

Rey grins. 

She stands, thighs burning as she rises to her feet. Ben’s hands steady her, lighting on her upper arms, holding her firmly, balancing her. A rock. His expression, though. His expression is a ruin. His eyes are wild, his nostrils flaring. 

He stares at her like he’s never seen her. Like he could never look away. 

Rey lifts up on tiptoe and pecks him on the mouth. 

Then she turns and makes a line for her desk drawer where she keeps the condoms, shedding her clothes as she does. His sweater. Her shirt. Two shoes. Jeans and a bra. 

Condom in hand, she flops down on her mattress. Heart racing, she leans back. Looks up at him. 

In the interim, Ben has lost his clothing, too. Has stepped out of his jeans. Has removed his shirt. Is standing there, in her small room, filling it. Completely naked. 

His erection is a deep, dark red. Fully hard. Slick with her spit. 

Her smile fades. Her lips part. And her pulse rises, wild and racing. 

Ben steps forward. 

His eyes are fixed on her. Focused and intense. 

Rey leans up on her elbow. The cheap mattress dips under her, and foil from the condom wrapper crinkles between her fingers, the only sound between them. She bites her bottom lip. 

And Ben sinks to the mattress. 

He crawls up to her with dark, steady eyes. Her cunt throbs, just from looking at him. Dull. Aching. 

Want. She’s slick with it. 

Half desperate, she thrusts the condom out at him, and he accepts it, hand brushing over hers as he does. 

Then he sets it on the mattress. Down. Next to her hip. 

“What are you - ?” 

His fingers hook in her underwear. 

“I want to taste you,” he says, with a hard yank. “It’s only fair.” 

That tightness in her chest squeezes, quivering. 

“Yes,” she whispers. “Okay.” 

Ben’s eyes gleam. 

He strips her with rapt attention. Careful, single-minded, patient. Cotton drags down her thighs. Warm hands slide up her skin. Higher, higher. He lowers his mouth to her center and _breathes_ , inhaling. Then he licks a wet, messy stripe. 

Pleasure twists in her. 

Her elbows slip, and she falls back to the mattress, breath knocked out of her, breathing hard. Ben does not pause. 

His hand closes around her thigh, pinning her, holding her, as his mouth finds her clit. Rey keens, fingers scrambling in her bed sheets. 

Ben’s lips are suction, wet, and heat. He works a finger into her and _grunts_ when he finds how easily she takes it. 

“Fucking wet for me,” he growls into her cunt, adding a second finger. “I knew you would be.” 

And she is. She's wet for him. _Dripping_. 

His fingers hook up. Firm and dragging. Her eyes close, rolling back in her head. 

In the darkness, something ripples through her. Toe-curling, hot and teeming. She lets out a loud, shuddering breath, pulsing around him, but Ben doesn’t let up. Doesn’t release her. Spurred on, he continues, does exactly the same thing, fucking her fully with his mouth and face and fingers. 

The ripple shatters. 

Breaks in her, washes over her, a wave she can’t see past, an _intensity_ that borders on painful. Frantic, writhing, white-hot and too much. It claws its way out her throat. The sound she makes—it’s one she’s never made before. Might never make again. 

She opens her eyes, looks directly into Ben's. His mouth is drenched, his chin is dripping with her. 

Rey is hardly breathing. Can’t catch her breath. 

His hands gentle over her thighs and rub slow, steadying circles. 

“You’re so pretty,” he says. 

Rey searches for speech. Grasps for it, wide-eyed, and misses a few times. 

“Holy shit,” she says finally. It’s all she can muster. 

Ben’s eyes crinkle with the force of his smile. 

He rolls on the condom. 

He settles between her legs, shaft resting warm and heavy in the crease of her thighs. Lined up, waiting. Rey shifts her hips, making room for him, and Ben’s hand moves. But instead of reaching down to adjust the angle like she expects him to, he reaches up to her. Cups her face in that way he seems so fond of doing, thumb grazing loosely over her cheek. Rey feels oddly like she’s about to cry. 

Ben’s eyes search hers. “This still okay?” he whispers. 

She nods, airless. And then, _"Yes."_

He pushes inside. 

And then keeps pushing. 

A stretch that bends her throat back, makes her tendons go taut. She’s convinced he’ll split her before he bottoms out. He doesn’t. 

She twitches under him, toes curling, when he finally seats himself in her. 

_“Rey.”_

A word and a prayer and a warning. 

Ben looks like he might come any second. Like he wants to say all manner of impulsive, sex-addled things. 

She grabs him by the face and pulls him down into a messy open-mouthed kiss, arching her back and wrapping her legs around his waist. 

Ben thrusts harder, fucking into her. The thick drag of him draws a moan from her. 

Another. 

Her feet dig into him, driving him harder. Further. Again. It’s not a race. She isn’t going to come again. There’s no way. 

But this feeling, this tightness, this closeness—it’s enough. 

More than enough. 

Ben trembles over her, and she moves her face to his neck. 

“You feel so good, Ben, stretching me like this, fucking me like this.” His hips stutter into her, pace erratic, picking up. “Like that,” she croons. “Yes, like that, exactly like that.” 

Ben tucks his head into her neck and mouths at her shoulder. Biting, sucking, fucking her up mattress. Too hard, too eager, so sweet. 

He comes. 

  


  


  


There is a weight on her. Solid, crushing. Almost an embrace. 

Ben is boneless. Spent and languid, nosing into her hair. His heart thumps rapidly against her, beating out of his chest. 

Rey closes her eyes. 

Breathes, listens, feels. And, for a short moment, imagines. Images what it might be like to stay here. To let her heart keep time with his. 

Her sternum presses against the hard weight of him on her next inhale, and it’s easy to keep up the illusion. Easy with the heaviness. It feels real. Lip between her teeth, she trails her hand up his back. It’s sweat-slicked. Wide and strong. So strong. Arousal shoots through her, even now. Rising, warm, prickling. 

It’s a flicker she’ll have to let fade. 

It’s not like they can stay here. This isn’t something that can last. For many reasons, a thousand reasons—the easiest and most palatable of which being the condom. 

In junior year of high school, Jessika Pava had pulled a bunch of girls into the second-floor bathroom, and in a whispered, hushed, _you’ll-never-believe-this_ kind of voice, had told them all how Ven had fallen asleep after they’d had sex that past weekend, and how she’d let him, and just kind of held him, and how nice it was, how good it felt, but also how, when she shook him awake ten minutes later, he’d _yelped_ in panic, because the condom had fallen off inside of her—fallen off, like, _far inside of her_ —like, they _couldn’t get it out_ inside of her, and they’d had to rush to Planned Parenthood in his mom’s SUV and a nurse had removed it using, like, a speculum or whatever, and then she’d had to take Plan B and had thrown her entire guts up. 

It’s a story that has stuck with Rey ever since she overheard it from the corner stall. 

Gently, she taps on Ben’s back. “Condom.” 

“Mm?” he mumbles into her neck. His lips move against her skin, lazy, nonsensical, lovely. So lovely. 

Rey nudges him again. “The condom, Ben. You need to pull out.” 

“Shit _.”_ He tenses, suddenly alert. “Shit, right.” 

Leaning up on one arm, he grabs himself by the base, then rolls over toward the desk where Rey keeps a small trash can. While he handles the condom, Rey scoots down to the bottom of her mattress, then stands on wobbly, coltish legs. The world tilts. Tumbles a little. 

She is—going to be sore in the morning. 

Is going to carry him with her. Deliciously. In the best way. 

“What’s going on?” Ben asks on a breath, as if surprised to find her gone, out of bed. He looks sex-brained. Confused. “Where are you going?” 

Rey hunts for the nearest piece of clothing to throw on. “Bathroom,” she says, pulling on his sweater. “Be right back.” 

“Oh.” He blinks. “Yeah, okay.” 

  


  


  


After she pees and washes her hands, she lingers by the sink. 

She stands there, just looking at herself. 

At her splotchy cheeks. At her straggly flyaway hairs. At the pale sliver of neck and shoulder that peek out from where his sweater hangs off of her. 

At the spot where a bruise is forming neatly in the shape of Ben’s mouth. 

She pulls her hair up into a high bun, stray tendrils escaping, curling around her cheeks. 

She raises her chin. Tilts her head to the left. To the right. 

A smile tugs at her lips. 

She carries that smile with her down the hall and back to her room. 

Back to Ben. 

“Hey,” he says warmly, and as soon as she opens the door, smiling like he’s thrilled to see her despite her being gone for less than five minutes. 

In that time, Ben has propped himself up against the wall, a stack of her mismatched pillows piled behind him. His dark hair is mussed, messy and boyish. One of his hands is curled behind his head, and his bare, toned chest leads an impressive line to his lap, where her thin floral bed sheet is pulled and creased, barely covering him. 

His smile widens. 

Rey swallows, stunned. 

Pulse ticking up, she leans against her open doorway, aiming for casual, needing support. 

Seeing him there, in her bed and smiling, calm as anything—like this is normal, natural, something he _wants_ to do—it’s a lot. 

He looks good. Handsome. 

Rey’s fingers curl around the crown molding. Biting her bottom lip, she wonders, briefly, if she can get away with stretching the moment. 

Ben likes her. Is attracted to her. He’d said so. 

That means they can probably do this again. 

Maybe—maybe if she takes off his sweater, he’ll proposition her right away. Maybe if she stands there, unmoving, time will just stop. Maybe… maybe if none of those things work, she can at least talk him into grabbing a bite to eat before he leaves. There’s a Waffle House a couple of blocks down that she goes to with Finn on special occasions. 

They could walk there. He could drive. 

“You look good in that,” Ben says, breaking the silence. 

Rey releases her lip. “What?” 

“That,” he elaborates, nodding pointedly to his sweater. His eyes flash as he looks, a temperature that warms her. 

“Oh, this old thing?” she asks, twisting and playing with the hem, unsure whether she feels more like a Hollywood starlet or a fool. 

Something about it seems to work, regardless. 

“Yes,” Ben says, hungry. Serious. His eyes lock on her thighs. And then, “It’s yours if you want it.” 

A startled, self-conscious laugh escapes her. 

Her hand loosens, falls away. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll wash it and give it back to you.” 

“No.” Ben shakes his head. “It’s yours. I’ve decided. It looks far better on you anyway.” 

Rey pinches the sleeve between her fingers and rubs. It’s soft. The expensive kind of soft. Real and—hers. He can’t possibly mean it. 

He pats the bed. “Now come here.” 

Rey’s eyes widen. “You don’t want to go?” 

“Of course not,” he says, frowning. “Why would I want to do that?” 

Rey shrugs, a little helpless. “I just—I don’t know. I don’t want to keep you. You know, if you had somewhere to be.” 

“I don’t,” he says, chuckling. “I really don’t. You couldn’t pay me to leave.” He pats the mattress again. 

Rey can only stare. 

At him in her bed. At his hand on her mattress. Paralyzed, unmoving. 

A note of insecurity steals over Ben’s face. 

The hand behind his head drops, and he sits up, leaning forward. “I—unless you want me to go. Want me to leave. Then I will. Of course. I can leave right - ” 

_“No.”_

Rey steps forward. Manages to even her breathing and lower her voice. “No,” she says again, a blush heating her neck. “Don’t go. You don’t have to leave. I don’t—you can stay. Here.” _With me_. 

Ben swallows. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” she whispers. 

He looks at her for a long moment. Cautiously, he smiles. “Come here, Rey.” 

Heart hammering in her ears, Rey closes the door behind her, then turns, feeling like a stranger in her own room as she walks over to the bed. 

Back straight, she lowers herself to the mattress, sitting right on the edge, limbs rigid, legs cast over the side. 

Ben pulls her gently into his chest. 

Stiff as she is, it can’t be easy. But he does it. A moment later, she helps him, pulling her legs onto the mattress and pressing them against him, more aware of her body than she’s been in a very long time. 

His hand splays over her back. Slow, easy. 

Her head shifts along his collarbone, awkward, uncomfortable. 

She shifts again, unable to find a spot that isn’t hard, isn’t angular. Unable to find a spot where she isn’t conscious of her every stupid breath. 

“Is this okay?” Ben whispers. 

Rey nods, fidgeting. “Yes.” 

He leans his face close to her hair. “I... really like you, Rey.” 

“You said that before,” she says, exhaling, maybe smiling. She shifts once more against him, a minute change, but not a better one. Still, his skin is warm. Smooth. Nice. 

His hand comes around her shoulder. “Here,” he says, and pulls her further down his chest, to the crook there. The divot above his pectoral. “That better?” 

It is. A lot. 

“Yeah,” Rey says, heart in her throat. 

Ben’s hand crawls under his—no, _her_ —sweater and rubs a soothing, circular pattern across her back. “You’re not too hot?” he hums. 

“No,” she says. It’s true. 

Finn and her have a running bet on how long they can go without turning on the heat. Rey is the reigning champion, undefeated two years running. But so far, this winter has been mild. No one’s folded yet. 

She gets a sense of why Ben might be asking, though. He’s a furnace. Is throwing out heat. Rey presses her cheek into it and closes her eyes. 

His hand trails another loop over her back. Down. Up. Absent and purposeful. 

Blissfully good. 

Rey lets herself sigh into it. And, on that sigh, a muscle relaxes. 

First one. Then another. It cascades. 

She sinks further into him. Resting, trusting. It’s far from easy. Harder than sex. 

Ben clears his throat, and Rey can _feel_ it, she’s so close to him. Can feel his abs tense, can feel his lungs inflate. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, casual again. 

“Work,” she groans out. It’s cruel, really. _Reality_. It shouldn’t be allowed to intrude on their moment here; whatever it is, whatever that is happening. 

“Oh,” Ben says, sounding disappointed. “What time?” 

Rey presses her head into his chest, looking for an escape. Ben’s heart beats heavily under her. Fast, and getting faster. 

“Early,” she says, whining a little. “Eight.” 

Ben is quiet. His hand maintains its steady, blissful trajectory across her back, and his heart continues to race, pulse climbing, rabbit-quick. “Would you like... maybe, if you want, we can get breakfast in the morning?” 

Rey stills. 

Stops breathing. 

“I—I saw a Waffle House nearby. If you want, I can take you to breakfast before you have to be at work. I could drive you. Or you could bike, and I could meet you th—” 

“Yes.” She rushes forward with the air left in her lungs. “Yes, I want that. Yes, that sounds good.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Rey says, biting her lip. Biting down her hopeful, wanting grin. 

Ben exhales shakily. She can feel that, too—the relief in his body. Is present and a part of it. 

“So then maybe... maybe we could also get dinner later? Tomorrow, even, after your shift.” 

“Like a date?” 

“If you want.” His fingers still. Tense over her. He shakes his head. “No,” he says, correcting. “Like a date. Both of them. Breakfast and dinner.” 

Rey tries to press lips together, but a smile breaks free. Full-forced, wide, _happy_. 

It’s a risk, what she’s doing. A twirl on her tightrope. She feels like it might be worth it. 

“Sounds good,” she says. 

Ben hugs her tighter to him. Holds her close. “For dinner, I was thinking we could go to my place. I make a mean omelet. How’s that sound?” 

Rey laughs, so happy she thinks she might burst with it. 

“Fucking perfect,” she says, curling into Ben, relaxing fully into him, threading her fingers through his. “Just be careful, okay? The way to my heart is through my stomach.” 

Ben smiles into her hair. “I’m counting on it.” 

  


  


  


  


  


  


**Eight Months Later**

  


MAIL now  
**Archive of Our Own  
[AO3] youthotwrong posted Chapter 21 of bind my heart (with your warm embrace)**  
Archive of Our Own youthotwrong posted a new chapter of bind my heart (with your... 

  
  
_Attraction isn’t a choice,_ the summary reads. _Everything that comes after is._

Rey snuggles back into a pillow, a smile spreading across her face. 

This is it. The final chapter—the soft epilogue. 

She’s been waiting. Been hoping and thinking about it off and on for months. And now it’s here. The fullness, the happy feelings. Belongings and coming home. 

She snuggles further back, pulling her knees up, bringing her phone close to her face, losing herself in the story. 

“Whatcha reading?” 

The tendons in her neck go taut. She keeps herself from stashing her phone underneath the covers, but it’s a near thing. 

“Nothing,” she says. She looks up from the screen, expression carefully blank. “Just doing some grading.” 

Ben’s chest rises and falls. His shirt is splotchy with sweat, and a towel hangs around his neck. His hair is damp and held back by a silly little headband that makes her grin like a fool every time she sees it. 

She’d be grinning now, too, if she hadn’t been caught red-handed after eight months of diligent care. 

Her only hope is distraction. Deflection. 

“You’re back early,” she says, straightening. “How was your run?” 

“Started raining,” Ben replies, making a face. He removes the towel and his sweatband, tossing them onto the dresser. But when he turns back to her, his head tilts. 

“You’re grading?” 

She shrugs, pulse spiking. “Yeah. I don’t know how you always managed to grade so much, so fast. It never ends.” 

“Practice,” he says. Then he raises his brow. “You’re grading,” he says again. “On your phone.” 

Rey raises her chin. “Yes.” 

Ben gives her a look, lips quirking. He doesn’t back down. 

She sighs. “Okay, no.” 

Ben’s smile is slow and languid. He walks over, then plops down on his bed, pushing her knees flat. His sweaty head falls to her lap. 

“ _Gross_ ,” she says, making a show of it even as her heart does this funny little swoop. 

“You love it.” 

“You wish,” she throws back, threading her fingers through his messy wet waves. 

In response, Ben nuzzles further into her lap, not unlike a cat. 

He’s needy, her boyfriend. Always wanting attention, always needing to be touched. 

Rey is happy to oblige. Happy to be needed. To be wanted. Happy when it’s him. 

She tries to remember that as he reaches up and taps her arm, petulant. “What were you reading?” 

At this point, all hope of a deflection is lost. She knows that. She’d made too much of a reaction. Put up too much of a fuss. 

“A story,” she sighs. 

He hums, smiling, as she runs her nails along his scalp. “What’s it about?” 

“Kira,” Rey says, stilted, blushing. “And Kylo.” 

Ben perks up. “From Galaxy Wars?” 

“... Yeah.” 

“Like EU?” 

“Not quite.” 

“You know, I’ve always thought I look a little like Kylo.” 

Rey sputters out a laugh. “In your dreams, frat boy.” 

“Hey!” Ben lifts his head. “We’re the same height. Got the same hair color, too.” 

“Keep flattering yourself there, buddy,” Rey says, smiling like a fool. 

Ben makes an exaggerated huff. Damp hair flops against her thigh. “The story?” he prods, poking her again. But then, when a beat passes and Rey doesn’t say anything, his badgering expression clears. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“No,” she says, blushing. “No, I want to.” 

She doesn’t know why she’s feeling so nervous, so embarrassed, but she is. Like her emotions, all of them, are set to a baseline of ten. 

“Have you ever heard of fanfiction?” she asks, trying for offhand. Like, she’s just throwing it out, casually mentioning it. 

From her lap, Ben nods, face scrunching up her sleep shorts. “Like—fan-made stories?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Yeah, you could say I know about it. In sixth grade, I wrote a short story where I helped Frodo defeat Sauron.” 

Rey’s heart leaps in her chest. “ _You didn’t_.” 

“I did,” he says, grinning and shameless. “First we stopped at Diagon Alley to pick up our wands, then we Portkeyed to Middle Earth. I taught everyone how to _Apparate_ , and ended up _Wingardium Leviosa-ing_ the One Ring into Mount Doom. After the world was saved, the fellowship came back to Atlanta with me so they could attend my birthday party.” He pauses, face scrunched in thought. “Pretty sure I was also dating Hermione Granger.” 

Rey’s heart feels like it’s going to explode. Burst, right there in his bed. It’s like the time she found a copy of Ben’s kindergarten class photo, only ten times worse. 

“Oh my god,” she says, feeling like she might cry. “ _Oh my god_.” 

Ben’s cheeks tinge pink. He looks up at her, fond and guileless. “Is it like that?” 

“Not exactly.” She laughs, self-conscious. “It’s—it’s a little more explicit.” 

Ben smirks. “So they’re doing it?” he asks. His fingers start to fiddle with the edge of her shorts, teasing along the hem. “Kira and Kylo?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Good for them.” His fingers wander further up her shorts, tracing along the sensitive skin of her upper thigh. He grins. “Can I see it?” 

“It’s, okay, well.” Rey takes a deep breath. “How much do you know about knotting?” 

His fingers still. “Like—in relation to sex? What animals do?” 

“Sort of. Kind of. They’re people. It’s a—trope,” Rey manages. “Alpha Beta Omega.” 

“Alpha Tau Omega,” Ben corrects absently, but his brow is furrowed. Patient, non-judgmental, curious. “So they’re... in a sex fraternity? In space?” 

“No.” Rey’s face is on fire. Actually on fire. She takes another deep breath. “I—ugh,” she says, flapping her hand. “I don’t think I’m explaining this very well.” She picks up her phone from the mattress and shoves it in his face. “Here. Just read it.” 

He takes the phone. Doesn’t look at it. “Can we read it together?” 

It’s so earnest, the way he says it. Rey’s heart swoops, and she finds herself smiling down at him, even though she’s embarrassed out of her head. 

“I don’t know if I can do that,” she says, blushing. She threads her fingers through his hair, evening her breathing. “Just—just give me a second. I’ll tell you. Explain. I just need to organize my thoughts.” 

“Sure,” Ben says, and kisses her thigh. “Take your time, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW SOFT WAS THAT??
> 
> a million thanks to [jenfysnest]() for the beta & support here. fandom is better with her in it. 
> 
> finishing fics is still a new & not-small thing for me, so i really hope you enjoyed! and got a kick out of all those meta (and direct) a/b/o references.
> 
> come yell at me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/AllFrak). ❤️


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